


We Must Be Better

by eyezonlyii



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Father Figures, Fatherhood, Mother Figures, Mother-Son Relationship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyezonlyii/pseuds/eyezonlyii
Summary: Inhaling fortitude, he answered with resignation, “The cycle ends here, We must be better than this.” His muscles tensed, ready to snap the thread of familial violence once and for all, when a fleeting thought came to him - Atreus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Baldur's death in God of War irked me for the simple reason of the theme of the game seemed to be pushing Kratos beyond killing to solve a problem. So here's a small piece possibly imagining something different.

The snow crunched under his feet as he turned to walk away from his adversary. His son, silent and somber behind him, watched as the two Norse deities struggled to their feet. He heard them speaking, not really paying much attention. After all, this was a family affair. It wasn’t until Atreus’s plea of “FATHER!” rang through the silence that Kratos turned to the scene. 

The Goddess Freya offering herself to her son as penance for her misguided attempt to keep him safe, and the suffering that caused it and Baldur, the son so lost in his loneliness and rage that he believed killing his own mother would give him release. Kratos strode to the fatal morbid embrace, reaching Baldur before death claimed Freya. 

“Why…” the other choked out as Kratos wrapped his arms around his head and neck, each knowing this was the end, “you could have - walked away.” Limply, the smaller god writhed against him, and Kratos steeled himself for what was to come.

Inhaling fortitude, he answered with resignation, “The cycle ends here, We must be better than this.” His muscles tensed, ready to snap the thread of familial violence once and for all, when a fleeting thought came to him - Atreus. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the young boy that he journeyed all this way with. The boy who was a testament of the faith placed in him by another. One who gave him, the slayer of not only his Father, but an entire pantheon, another chance. A chance to heal, a chance to _be better than this._

In that moment, Kratos knew. In another world, another time, he would have twisted his arms and ended it then and there. And it would have been warranted, and probably easier, but it also would have been too...spartan. In front of him, still recovering lay Freya, downcast and bracing for the inevitable crack of bone and breaking of her heart. He couldn’t do this to her. She had helped them before, saving Atreus, and forgiving him of his own transgression in her woods. 

With his left arm still holding strong under Baldur’s neck, he brought his right arm across the deity’s stomach, slowly, enough to not be construed as a threat. He shifted his feet, to allow him a firmer stance, and held Baldur to his chest. Lightly, Kratos moved his fingertips across his skin, eliciting a wince from the smaller man. Not that he had it all planned out, but so far things were going well. If they were to end so, he needed more. He changed his left hand from gripping Baldur’s shoulder to holding his neck and chin. 

Kratos had been a general in the Spartan army; he fought for Ares, the God of War himself. He became the God of War, and he slew the entire Greek pantheon in his desire for vengeance. Kratos’ true epithet was the God of Rage, making him the perfect counter to the seething wire of fury he currently enveloped.. And mustering every once authority he could, reaching out to the primordial aether that is his Domain, he breathed one word into Baldur’s ear, hoping it would be enough to continue this path he rashly started, “**FEEL**”. 

Freya had since recovered her bearing, now poised in front of the two men. Her face, stern and implacable, betraying nothing. Truly she was as strong a Goddess as any. Moments unfolded into eternity between a man who had once lost everything, but had since recovered, and a woman who was desperately clutching to the only thing that mattered to her, and still managed to push it away. With each passing breath, Kratos could feel his desperation mounting, and Baldur’s breathing quickening. Whatever was going to happen, needed to happen soon. Keeping his gaze, Freya reached out, “Why don’t you come with me Atreus. We should leave your father and my son. I can show you some more spells that may prove useful later.” _A sound move_, thought Kratos. Unsure, the boy looked to his father, who had now stepped away from Baldur, with only his left hand anchored around the back of the other man’s neck. “It is all right Atreus. Go with Freya.” 

More crunching of snow as the young boy made his way across the drifts, his eyes never leaving the spectacle of his father holding the other god in place. As Atreus walked toward him, Kratos tightened his grip on the other man’s neck and slowly pushed him to his knees. For his part, Baldur did not resist, instead, pliantly sinking to the ground, settling there. His head lolled forward and his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. Kratos released his grasp and stepped in front of Baldur. He kneeled and reached for his own son. 

Atreus stopped just short of him, still unsure of what was transpiring. “Go on Lad,” Mimir began, breaking the silence, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Inwardly thanking the talking head, Kratos continued to reach for Atreus, pulling him into a deep embrace. Atreus slowly relaxed into his father, and Kratos took his time to appreciate the moment. For too long he eschewed these kinds of moments with his own son. But if he was to save another son, he would need all the strength he could get. “Take the head, and go with Freya. I do not know how long I will be gone, but you must remain strong. Can you do this for me?” He held Atreus close, feeling the young boy stifle his sniffles. “Yes Father.” 

“Now go,” he held Atreus’ shoulders at arm’s length, peering into his eyes. Eyes that reminded him so much of the boy’s mother…As Atreus stepped away from him he grabbed the boy’s hand. “Wait. take this as well,” he reached back, clasping the handle of the Leviathan Axe. When Atreus made a noise to protest, Kratos silenced him, “Do not worry about me. If I need it, I can call it to me again, but for now, it is not the correct tool.” His son nodded, and after fixing Mimir to his own belt, he hefted the weapon with both his hands. “Good luck Father. We’ll be waiting for you.”

He waited until the skiff with the three travelers rounded the bend before approaching the kneeling Baldur once more. Squatting down, he gripped the younger god’s face again, bringing their eyes in line. 

“We **will** be better.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, Athena had little faith in her plan as well, but if she didn’t act, all of Greece would be lost. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was originally going to be a oneshot, but DoctorXIII just had to go and give me plot ideas.

_“You disappoint me Spartan,” the last word dripped with as much contempt as she could pour. She leaned into his space, her ethereal glow reflecting in his dying eyes. His breath was ragged, coughing and sputtering blood and spittle, probably rank with his innards, but she couldn’t feel it. The only thing she could feel was the gnawing in her core that she had lost. Everything she had wanted had been taken from her at the last moment. A plan so thorough it had nearly been flawless, only to stumble at the end. How arrogant of he, the Ghost of Sparta to defy Athena herself! Goddess of wisdom strategy...and war. The audacity to release the power of Hope into the world, to the mortals! They would squander it. They would misuse it. They would destroy it. And to prevent that, Athena resolved, she would seek a new strategy. The Goddess of War would not rest until Greece was at peace._

“Athena...”  
The Goddess returned from her abstraction upon hearing the sour note that carried her name.  
“Are you sure this is what you want? We cannot be certain you will survive. Let alone succeed. After all he’s done, why does he deserve this? He’s nothing more than a monster who-”

“Enough Apollo,” she moved toward the other god, resting her hand on his shoulder; the luminescence emanating from within him smoldering as he struggled to suppress his emotions. He shifted away from her, his sigh a heavy elegy: he didn’t believe she would return. Truth be told, Athena had little faith in her plan as well, but if she didn’t act, all of Greece would be lost. Forever.

They were just outside the Adytum Apollo at Delphi, and to her surprise, Athena could not recall a time where she had actually been inside the sacred chamber. Around her, the surviving oracles and their attendants trudged around and through their stations. After years of the chaos from the destruction of Zeus and Olympus with it, disrepair had befallen the once beautiful shrine. Refugees slept in makeshift beds, no more than piles of whatever soft material they could find, haphazardly gathered together on the floor. However, the God of Light and Music used his remaining power to bolster the people’s spirits. And though he would never say so out loud, the strain was slowly wearing on him. The death of Zeus freed the Greeks from the direct influence of the gods, however, the very Nature was in disarray, tearing itself asunder. She needed to find the rightful heir. Athena needed Kratos once again. 

“Before we go inside, you must bathe in radiant purity. Aresia and Nubia will escort you when you are finished,” Apollo announced as he closed his eyes, and let out an exasperated breath. He turned, and just before he entered the sacred chamber Athena chuckled.

“And how, Dear Brother, am I to bathe with no body?” she inquired, accentuating her question by following her ethereal form with her hand. Bemused, she made to step forward to him again, but Apollo turned, and looking at her solemnly simply stated, “Go with the Oracles, Athena.” With that, the God of Light disappeared into the inner chamber, the doorway shimmering as it sealed shut. 

“If you would please come with us, My Goddess, the baths are this way,” Athena turned to see two women, both divine in their own right; one statuesque, fair skinned and resplendent with golden hair that fell to her back, and the other boxum, with skin of the deepest umber and vespertine, her ebony locs coiling around and over her shoulder. Each wore a variation of the chiton, the fabric billowing about in as they led Athena to the baths. As she still pondered how any water would actually “cleanse” her, they reached their destination; and she gasped at the sight before her.

Not since Olympus had she seen such splendor, or rather, it would have been splendorous before Kratos sundered the world. Three separate pools, each adorned with the brightest and purest marble inlaid with colored stones and pebbles. The swirling liquid within each pool wasn’t quite water, but upon closer inspection was actually liquid light. Between the flows and ripples on the surface and the decorations underneath, the mosaics seemed as if they were moving and shaping on their own. The two women led Athena to a settee in the middle of all three pools. Though she had a solid enough from, there wasn’t any actual material to grasp to undo her own vestments. She fixed her gaze on the darker woman, whom through their idle chatter, she had come to know as Nubia, 

“Nubia,” she gestured to herself,”I still do not understand-”

“We shall provide you with a vessel, My Lady.” At that, another woman was brought out on an ornate cart, this one just as robust as Nubia, yet supple and fair in light of Aresia. Her raven hair was shoulder length, just framing her face. She lay on her back, arms folded across her chest, which was rising and falling deeply; her features dignified, yet not unfriendly. At once, Athena understood. The realization was a heavy one, and she understood part of her brother’s sour mood. In order to have a form that could traverse past the boundaries of Greece, she would have to inhabit this woman’s body. It wasn’t a difficult task. The Gods had used a plethora of vessels to interact with mortals. However, those interactions were typically brief, and in the case of actually using a mortal body, the unanchored animus would be carefully guarded so as to ensure seemly reentry. 

Athena stood,her shade growing a deeper green, betraying her own unease. Before she could even begin the process, there were some questions that needed to be answered. She addressed the two Oracles.

“Does she do this of her own will?”

“Yes. She volunteered after Apollo explained the situation.” 

“Does she have any family?”

“No, My Lady. She is but an orphan found after the Chaos began” This makes leaving the region easier if no one is to miss her.

“Is she physically capable?”

“She has been trained by Artemis herself.” Such training would quicken the manifestation.

“I am one of the Vestal Triad. Has she been known by a man?”

“No man has touched her, save for our Lord when she carried her here from the ruins of Athens.” So, did Apollo know beforehand this day would come? Or is it just a confluence of fortunate events?

Satisfied with the answers she was given, the Goddess leaned over the slumbering woman. Whatever concoctions they had given her to induce her repose was potent, the fragrance wafting into her face. She brushed a stray hair away from the young woman’s lips, cupping her cheek for a moment before and asking without looking away, “What is her name?”

“Diana.”

Athena reared to her full height, gathering her ambient energy. Globules of light twinkled around her crown, the shimmering green flecks twisting and dancing on the wind. Around Diana head mirroring shapes flitted and floated in tandem. “Then let the story be told that Diana of Athens has been favored by her Goddess; offering herself freely this day. She will be remembered, and her sacrifice will be repaid one hundred fold. This Athena decrees.” At the end of her statement, both women were enveloped in a crescendo of the dancing beryl shapes. Slowly, both clusters reached towards one another, spindly tendrils weaving and entwining; and pulling the two women together. Athena reached out, embracing the space between the animus and the consciousness. She could feel the warm essence of the other woman. It was strong, exceptionally, and she couldn’t bear to let it go to waste. So she did what the gods had refrained from doing all these years: she took some of it into herself. 

After the merging, Athena was ushered to the three baths. She was instructed to lay in each one, as the Oracles went on about their meanings. The Phosphorus Pools, as they were called, each served a purpose: Eosphorus, the Dawnbearer, to prime the supplicant for the coming revelation; Augerinus, the Morning Star, bestows the grace of truth; and finally Eosphorus, the Evening Star, to give clarity. Between each immersion, Athena reveled in just feeling again. From the way the effulgence ran in rivulets down her body, to the caress of the breeze across her skin. After spending so much time in her ghostly form, the tiniest of sensations placed a child’s smile on her lips. She took pause after donning the presented robes to gaze upon herself. If she were being honest, Diana was beautiful. Tall and muscular, she was strong and carried her form well. Her olive skin was smooth and without blemish. She possessed strong and high cheekbones with full lips that seemed to rest in a tantalizing smirk.

Finally ready to enter the Adytum, she stood just outside the entry. Nubia on her right, and Aresia on her left, each places the corresponding hand on a glyph embedded in the frame. Athena stepped forward after the light shivered, impatient with her brother’s rituals. “Apollo, my patience is running thin, we must proceed-” she cut short mid proclamation when she realized- Athena stood in total darkness. 

“Come, sister. Enter the center of Delphi, and prepare yourself.” She could hear the harmonies of Apollo’s voice carrying from somewhere in front of her. Why would he...Of course, she understood, A test of faith. Cautiously she inched forward. She couldn’t be sure, but for some reason she felt as if the narrow pathway beneath her gave way to a chasm on either side. As she continued forward, off in the distance was a single speck of light. Faint music began to echo around her, both gaining in intensity the closer she moved. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached a small platform, where seated was Apollo, radiating light more intense and more beautiful than she had ever witnessed from him before.

“Apollo. Why all the circumstance and ritual? Could you not just gaze into the Future, as the fates did when the warned Zeus of his demise? Are you not the God of Light and Truth?” Until she had spoken, he stood facing away from her, fixated on a point somewhere in the darkness. When he did turn, his movement was heavy and weary.

“Oh Athena. The circumstance wasn’t for me. At least not entirely. The knowledge of Foresight and Prophecy is different than that of Fate. Fate is what is to come, Prophecy is what may. I need you at your best,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and continued, “To receive a Prophecy from the God of Foresight, regarding other gods is no small task. Lesser beings would be consumed and lost to the madness. It would take real Wisdom to parse through it all.”

“I see. The pools were to cleanse me of the sins of Pandora’s Box, and restore to me myself,” she nodded and clasped Apollo’s hands, now holding between them. “So what happens now?” She had seen how the Fates used a string or webs to find their revelations. She couldn’t imagine Apollo doing the same. 

Apollo smiled, genuine and bright, “This.” 

Upon his answer, he thrust his hands into the air and immediately, the cavern illuminated. There were motes of light everywhere, bouncing around and colliding with one another. With each collision, an explosion of color would burst forth. Eventually the bursts started to take shape, constellations above and around the two gods. The faint music she heard earlier swelled to a cacophony of sounds. Some playing well together, others clashing; and yet somehow all moving in tandem. The images moved, searching for the corresponding tune. She could see images of events that had happened: sparing Kratos, his jump, her death, Zeus’ defeat. Alongside those were images of Hades, both the place and the god, a young boy, a disembodied head with one eye, rolling on the floor, and a woman. No...not a woman..something else. Just when the woman began to come into focus, everything stopped. 

Confused, Athena looked to Apollo, who simply grabbed her head. “Now, Sister. Take this all with you.” And the world exploded behind her eyes.

* * *

Freya rose to her feet, glancing around with uncertainty. An eerie and familiar feeling had just befallen her. She rushed outside of the hut, and circled the glade. Finding no ravens, she walked back inside, spotting Atreus sleeping soundly in the far corner. Returning to the table, she picked up her cup. "Mimir. Did you feel that?" 

"Aye," the head replied. "It seems like someone was looking for something and may have found us instead. Should we tell the lad's father?"

"No. At least not yet. Let's keep this between us for now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I do not know his mind Ares, but I know yours. You must quiet this resentment of me. The world was shaped and warped by the Titanomachy, who knows what would happen should two Gods wage war. Especially two Gods of War."
> 
> Ares merely scoffed and pointed at two boys sparring. "That one".

Even three months later, the feeling of a soft garment sliding over her body was still a small thrill for Athena. She spent longer than is customary getting dressed, mostly just pulling on and taking off various garments, testing how they felt, reveling in or rueing certain textures and materials. It was a luxury she could afford for the moment, but now is coming to an end; soon she’ll be on the road, and soft linens would be few and far between. 

Especially with where the first stop on her journey would take her. 

“Look at you,” the sing-song voice of Apollo wafted towards her, as did he. After the vision in his Temple, he arranged a place for her to stay while she parsed the images and possible meanings, refining her plan for the salvation of Greece. “Are you ready to set out? Shall I call a council of the remaining Olympians?” He stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders as she gazed over the horizon. 

“Not yet. I have some preparations to make before we gather the rest.” Turning and embracing him, Athena continued, “Thank you for everything Apollo. I’ll send word when I’m ready.” He nodded, his luminescence enveloping, “Be well Athena.”

The sun bore high and hot by the time Delphi was beyond the horizon. Had Helios still been alive, she might have tried to get him to have one of his horses trot a breeze. She could just imagine him, speeding his chariot through the heavens, racing around with all the exuberance of a boy fresh into manhood. As she mused, the memory faltered and his smiling face beaming the warmth of the sun slowly twisted and his mirthful laugh became an agonizing scream while his mouth fell open in eternal pain, sunlight leaking through his orifices and the stump of his neck. 

She snapped back to the present with the cracking of a twig under her foot echoing throughout the hills. Startled, she brought her spear, concealed as a walking stick into a defensive position. Aside from the fading sound of her own presence, the air was still. Very still. There was nothing. Not a single bird call, nor insect chirp. Even the very air felt heavy...dead. By all indications she was heading the right way. She continued down the worn path, deeper into the stillness. Soon, even the foliage started to wither as bright and lively trees faded into wilted and shriveled husks. Carcases were strewn about, with bones and pelts scattered along the ground. Soon enough, animal bones gave way to human remains. Disturbed earth and broken branches gave evidence of recent activity, and with an opening to Hades being so close, she doubted that it was anything living. Readying her staff once again, Athena pressed forward. 

It was hardly 10 minutes later when the first wave struck. She had taken a moment to rest, sitting on a rotten log and massaging her weary feet when the first undead legionnaire stumbled out from behind her. She moved slowly, not wanting to draw it’s attention, putting some distance between them. Carefully she stepped backwards, gripping the spear tightly. How long had it been since she had last seen battle? Even as the Goddess of war, she rarely engaged personally. Not out of fear, but out of a modicum of respect for Ares. Then again, it was usually against him that she fought anyway. She turned to move past but then a realization occurred: She was going to face such dangers and more along the way. And she needed to be able to protect herself. If there was any time to test the capability of her new form, this was it. 

Athena moved first. 

With both hands, she thrust her spear to the creature, aiming for it’s chest. Before she could pierce its rotting flesh, the undead lurched, and she glanced off the left shoulder. Using her momentum and shifting her weight, she managed to evade the retaliatory overhead swing. Noxious breath invaded her nostrils, almost choking her as the legionnaire groaned from the miss. She circled the creature, keeping an eye out for any others; lunged again, this time pulling into a feint on her left and causing the undead to step that way. She swung the butt of the spear up and into its jaw, shattering the bone and sending teeth careening in all directions. It was the sort of blow that would have felled a man, but here, only served to slow down her opponent. She sidestepped another blow, and this time with aim true, plunged her weapon deep into its skull. 

Just as the first slumped to the ground, three more shambled into view. Having tasted battle for the first time in eons, the Goddess of War was eager for more. 

Between fighting the undead and losing her bearings more than once, it was another 2 hours, and thus nearly nightfall by the time she reached the entrance to the Underworld. This was one of the lesser known entrances, used primarily by Persephone and Demeter during their semi annual visits. As such, the doorway was rather plain, not the ornate and decadent gate that Hades installed for official Olympian visits. Carved into the supporting columns were sheaves of wheat and wreaths, along with other symbols of the young goddess. Athena paused, holding a quiet moment for her slain friend, and while she wished she could blame Kratos for her death, the truth of the matter is Persephone, wanting to exercise some control over her own fate, antagonized the gods with a reckless plan, that would have...Plunged the world into the exact same chaos we’re facing now...another revelation washed over Athena, “Kratos was right,” she whispered as she solved the minor puzzle to open the door, “this is our fault.”

As the door opened, the first thing Athena noticed was the scent. Though not as strong as the miasma outside, the scent of death still carried through the cavern. In the past, when she used to visit Persephone, the passage smelled of lavender, myrrh, and all other sorts of flowers and herbs. There would be lit torches burning bright, illuminating a series of mosaics depicting her life with her mother, her kidnapping and subsequent release, and a few left unfinished, what they were to depict, Athena never knew. Now, the once illuminated halls are bathed in ominous shadows. Where there used to be a myriad of spirits of young maidens and the boys that chased them, there was nothing. As she approached the exit of the secluded cavern, Athena began to hear voices. She picked up her pace, reaching the gateway as quickly as she could. 

What greeted her outside was a scene she had never thought was possible. She looked around, double checking to make sure she was in the correct area. The Elysium Fields lay in waste. All manner of monster and beast from the pits of Tartarus roamed the land, slaughtering any lost soul they happened upon. Harpies flew overhead, bits of children and other scraps dangling and dripping from their talons. Viscera covered the ground, hindering her footing and concealing things that slithered or crawled beneath the heel. And yet, through all of the carnage, standing opulent and nearly pristine in the distance, stood the Temple of Persephone, in the heart of the Fields. With any luck, and had it not been severed by Kratos, Fate, what she needed would be there. 

Athena wiped the entrails of some creature or other from her spear using what little cloth she could find. The going had been slow, having to occasionally fend off a monster or five. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into anything too dangerous, mostly just harpies and more legionnaires. As she neared pile of rubble that may or may not have been a villa at one point, she flinched as a series of shrill screams erupted ahead of her. Athena hurried to the sounds to see a group of women cornered by an armored cyclops. Standing between the women and the beast was one lone man, his left arm bearing a worn bronze shield adorned with a crimson lambda. His right arm bore a gauntlet too heavy for any mortal man wield. Blood caked above his eye, hardly distinguishable from the crimson birthmark that snaked its way down his body seething with a fiery glow…

_“Zeus. I do not believe this is the best course of action,” Athena stepped from behind the older god, barring his exit from the throne room. She stood tall, her gaze locked with his, and one hand firmly on his chest. A silence fell over the room as the other gods looked to the scene. A quick survey of the room showed a myriad of reactions: few positive, such as the worry in Hestia’s eyes; most neutral, such as the glance of amusement shared between Hermes and Helios; but it was Hera and Ares that Athena was looking for. The former, in her eternal jealousy of her husband’s philandering ways, would stop at nothing to interfere with any of his offspring, or any plan which didn’t include her. But there were some plans and creatures that even she couldn’t twist. For now though, Hera’s attention was on some minor goddess currently fleeing the irate Queen of Olympus. The latter, had already risen from his chair, flaming hair ablaze and nostrils flaring as he slammed his fist on the table._

_“ONCE AGAIN YOU DEFY A DECREE OF ZEUS! DOES NOTHING MATTER TO YOU, **SISTER**?” The last word landed with as much fury as the spittle flying from his lips. The air changed, charged with the rising tension of a God. Olympus sighed, and the eternal flames that lit the room spun from a holy and comforting gold, to a rich and ominous red. “Every time Father gives an order, you do nothing but question. Why? What have you done to earn such fav-”_

_“I question because action without Knowledge or Wisdom can lead to consequences more dire than the situation at hand,” the room changed again, a vibrant green replacing the previous hue. “Maybe, if you weren’t so rash, Brother, your people wouldn’t be in a constant state of war for survival. Strategic-”_

_“ENOUGH!” Thunder rumbled in the air and the floor trembled at the outburst. Zeus removed Athena’s hand from his chest, pushed past her and turned to face the room once more. “Normally Athena, I welcome your council on such matters, but in this, Ares is right. The threat this man poses me, to us all on Olympus, the one with the red mark, is too great to allow to live free and unchecked. He must be dealt with swiftly and decisively” Athena looked around the room, seeing the gods nodding their ascent. She looked to the Fates, plucking and weaving in the corner, and then to Apollo, leaning on the table, fingers tented in front of his stern face. It was unlike him to be so quiet; especially when an argument regarding Destiny was to be had._

_“Apollo! What do you say?” He would express his displeasure with her abruptness later, but for now, she needed to know of any relevant Prophecy, “Have you any additional insight that the Fates may not have expressed?” The hiss from the corner of the room was but a minor annoyance. All heads turned to the younger god. He fidgeted and cast a disparaging look her way, muffled discord emanating from his space. “I cannot foresee something so monumental clearly. Especially on such short notice.” He rubbed his temple as he stood from the table, “I would just caution that whatever action is taken, to be ready for the most severe consequence.”_

_“This discussion is over. Athena, you will accompany Ares to Sparta. See to it that my will is done.” With that, Zeus, King of Olympus departed, leaving the other gods to their devices. _

_It was a few hours later when Athena and Ares left to do Zeus’ bidding.  
“Ares, you have been quiet this whole way. What troubles you?”_

_Her brother sat silent, his ebony steed leaving embers in the wake of its hoofprints. Athena’s own mount, a contrasting ivory with a golden mane, winnied as she urged it forward to catch him. Cresting the final hill before their destination, Ares turned to her, his normally vibrant hair seemingly a shade more pale than normal. He opened his mouth, then must have changed his mind. “You don’t get it do you?” His hair flared up once more, some of the errant curls framing his sneer, "You don't see it. How much he dotes on you. And trusts you. You wielded His lightning! Yet, here I am, full blooded Son of Olympus, and I am not even trusted to take a child from my own city. What must I do Athena? Why does Zeus choose you over me?"_

_"I do not know his mind Ares, but I know yours. You must quiet this resentment of me. The world was shaped and warped by the Titanomachy, who knows what would happen should two Gods wage war. Especially two Gods of War."_

_ Ares merely scoffed and pointed at two boys sparring. "That one"._

If Kratos was a study in the bestial nature of combat, Deimos was cerebral. The decades in the Realm of the Dead were torturous. Thanatos left no stone unturned in ways to punish first a boy, then a man, for the crime of solely existing. The worst part? Because the gods are cruel, he healed him after every session. There was nary a scar or burn mark marring his skin. It was as if nothing happened. The lessons however, clearly took hold. 

The cyclops roared, it’s deafening bellow blasting the air and echoing throughout Elysium. Most of the women shrieked and retreated further to the ruins of the villa. Athena felt a sliver of power as some of their prayers seeped into the aether. Deimos moved, lunging at the beast and quickly sidestepping the downcrack of the cyclops’ club. Catching his footing, he lept into the air, his eyes now meeting the behemoth’s. Time slowed to a still, just enough for Athena to see the grin on the man’s face as he plunged the gauntlet into the monster’s eye. Again, the air thundered as it cried out in pain, reeling back from the blow. Before it could grab him however, Deimos pushed off from it’s shoulders. There was a squelching and more roars of pain, and finally a terrible POP!, as the eye was ripped from the socket. The twisting and turning of the creature made for an awkward launch, and Deimos landed in the dirt, with a reverberating crack signaling a broken...something. 

Blinded by rage and pain, the cyclops began swinging its arms wildly, stomping and stumbling, trying to catch its assailant. Ducking through arms that could demolish stone with no effort, Deimos aimed the massive gauntlet once again. Even Athena winced at the sound that escaped the cyclops when its knee shattered. The brute fell onto its back, sending shockwaves through the ground and once more, Deimos took to the air. This time bringing the shield down with all his might. 

He knelt beside the headless creature, catching his breath when Athena finally moved forward. 

“Enjoy... the show? Don’t think... I didn’t see you there... watching.” His words stilted from the exertion. He looked her over, and Athena tensed. It was she who had sent him here. Well, not here, since that would have been preferable, but to Hades at the very least, and if he recognized her, then...well, she didn’t want to think of that. However, there was something...unsettling about the situation. Some feeling that what she was seeing wasn’t right and that she needed to be extra careful. 

“A fine display,” she replied. She spoke cautiously, still unsure of how to proceed. If he recognized her however, he gave no indication, instead approaching the still very frightened and cowering women. She followed, still keeping some distance between them. The unease she felt continued to grow as she observed his movements: slightly limping, blood dripping from various cuts betraying more recent and previous scuffles, his labored..._breathing_.

The realization washed over her just as Deimos turned to face her. She must have looked a sight, because his eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. “Something wrong, woman? You look like you’ve seen a **ghost**.” The last word barely escaped his lips before he was already snickering. “I am escorting these poor souls to Persephone’s temple. You should come with us. You look like you can handle yourself, and after that last encounter,” - he swings his arm in the direction of the cyclops, “I might need your help for awhile.” With that he started toward the temple, the group of women filing behind him.

Between the two warriors, the rest of the journey went rather smoothly. They encountered more harpies and legionnaires, and at one point even a minotaur. Deimos was friendly enough, chatting to the women and often trying to engage Athena herself in conversation, telling stories of homeland to put them at ease, and even a few tales that she knew to be wishful adventures he shared with his brother. 

As they reached the outer walls of the temple, Athena felt a surge of both remorse and relief. Resplendent as ever, the sanctuary stood as more than just the former palace of a dead goddess. Souls gathered together, prayers to the gods filling the air. More battle hardened souls stood watch, using the defenses to keep the roaming beasts at bay. Deimos bid the women farewell and motioned for Athena to follow him. 

“I apologize, but there is someone I need to see, and I must do so as quickly as possible,” she turned to walk among the souls, determined to find the one person in a sea of the dead who could possibly help her. Also she needed to get away from Deimos before-

“Maybe I can help you. I mean, after all this time, we really should catch up, shouldn’t we? _**Athena**_?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time since the fight, Baldur found his voice, barely above a whisper, “And what would you know about rage?”
> 
> The other man looked over his shoulder as he strode toward the boat once more, his footsteps suddenly heavier.
> 
> “Everything.”

Baldur was ready to die. Or, more accurately, was tired of living. He would have liked to kill Mother first, but alas, he was not to be given the chance to exact his revenge; to feel the ONE thing he yearned for for almost 100 years. BUUUT, the past few minutes weren’t bad at all! The accursed spell had been BROKEN and he could finally  ** _revel_ ** in combat: there was risk and danger! There. Was. Pain. OH! How wonderful it was! To feel the stars shooting behind his eyes when rocked with a fist from the Giant! Or how his ribs groaned when the boy kicked him as hard as he could! Each blow a rush of pleasure bottled and tangled with agony. 

Euphoria!

Anguish!

It was EVERYTHING he had missed for a hundred years crashing into his body and wracking him with violence and passion and  _ OOOOOHHH _ it HURT SO  ** _GOOD_ ** _ !!! _ _   
_ _   
_ But now, here he was, enveloped by the mass of the giant who had just walked away after besting him. He was  _ so close!  _ Everything that he wanted was  _ right there _ : the curse lifted, a good fight, his mother dead for her thievery…   
  
He struggled against a wall of muscle, swimming with sensations overwhelming, “Why...you could have - walked away...”

Baldur hears that the cycle must end here, _What cycle? He just needed to reach Mother...to hold her one last time_, his back pressed against the other man’s chest as he inhaled. He shivers as the giant’s breath ghosts across his neck. He readies himself for the end.   
  
Freya’s immortality “blessing” kept Baldur alive, but that doesn’t mean he never died; only he never stayed that way. Never went deep enough to actually go to Helheim, just darkness, then up and at it again. This time...he was free. He could rest. And oh, was he tired. As the moments passed, his struggling became weaker as he accepted the fate that was coming to him. How could it not? _He wanted to_ _KILL his own mother._ He still did, but what if, instead, he could sleep?   
But she couldn’t be forgiven. Not with what she had stolen. She needed to be punished, to feel what he couldn’t for a century. It hurt; the tempest brewing. Rage, sorrow, impotence, betrayal...and something else, something long forgotten and so small that he almost missed it when he touched it... all were there, swirling and roiling within and it was almost enough to wish for the curse, just so he would never have to-  
  


**"FEEL”**

A Command. A Domain. A  _ God _ .   
  
In that instant, Baldur understood. It was as if Thor himself commanded the heavens, or even how Freya moved and shaped the Earth around her. This man was no Giant from Jotunheim. He was a God. From where, Baldur wasn’t sure, but a deity nonetheless. Which meant Odin was  _ wrong _ ...   
  
****

** _FEEL_ **

_ “MOTHER? What have you done?” _

_   
_ _   
_ ** _FEEL_ **

_ “Mother? WHAT have you done?” _

_   
_ _   
_ ** _FEEL_ **

_ “Mother? What have you DONE? _

He could see her, standing slowly, avoiding his eyes. He heard the boy, shuffling and gawping, his fear palpable. But mostly? He  **felt** the God behind him. Encircling him,  _ cradling him _ . Arms that earlier wielded ax and chain to protect his son, now enfolded and embraced _ him _ . 

Baldur sank. To the earth, on his knees. Through the realm of his mind. He felt nothing. It was too much, too soon. He was alone, the wind nipping at him, biting where it could. Dampness spread from where the snow melted from his heat. It was frigid, dark, and cold.    
  
_ Frigid. Frozen. Freya. _ _   
_ _   
_ The chill reached for him, wanting to return the numbness, and he needed to get away, keep it from touching him. The spell was broken, but now he was cursed with  _ feeling _ and wished that he couldn’t.    
  


Warmth returned. Under his jaw, a breeze in his face. The God came into his view, a verdant green gaze piercing the gale, “We  **will** be better.” He released Baldur’s jaw and stood, his Authority emanating outward and washing over the younger god. There was no other command given as he turned away and strode to the icy river. And yet Baldur understood he was to follow. He stayed a few paces behind, unsure of what was to happen next. He could leave, run off to find Mother, and  _ maybe _ kill her before he was put down. As he considered his options, the other man broke the silence.    
  
“And then what would you do?” He stopped, just at the water’s edge where moored was a rowboat that would be a tight fight for two people. 

Baldur paused, suddenly finding something interesting to study on the ground. Truly, it was amazing how mud and snow mix together to form a slush. Such beauty he never noticed before…

The slush shuddered and crumbled as the god strode over. He stopped, just outside of Baldur’s view of the ground, Baldur tensed, phantom thunder rumbling in his ear, bracing himself for the blow that was sure to come. The other man moved again, and Baldur winced once more. The moment stretched as anticipation filled the space between them. When Baldur dared crack an eye open, instead of a countenance of anger or violence, he was met with a solemn understanding. The other man maintained his distance, arms folded, but relaxed. He didn’t seem tense, or upset. He was simply waiting. 

“And then what would you do?” he repeated. Slowly he unfurled his arms and took a cautious step forward. Self preservation told Baldur to flee, or fight, and he stumbled backwards half a step. The other god stopped his advance, freezing himself as one would when approaching a -  _ A child _ , thought Baldur. More of the phantom thunder reverberated around him and Baldur could just make out a booming voice of retribution on the wind. He may have been invincible for the past 100 years, but some things are hard to unlearn, even with centuries of invulnerability. 

“You are afraid. I understand. Do not be, for I do not wish you harm.” A large hand extended toward Baldur alongside the words. Tentatively, stepping forward, Baldur contemplated reciprocating the gesture, the question lingering in his mind,  _ “And then what would you do?” _ And to be honest, he hadn’t thought that far. Maybe he would kill Freya and be killed by Odin in turn, since he hadn’t been successful in his mission to bring him the last giant, or at least a way to Jotunheim. Truly, he had nowhere else to go at the moment,  _ especially _ because of the latter point. And maybe Odin wouldn’t kill him, and with Odin’s cruelty and without Baldur’s invulnerability, there could very well be a number of fates worse than death. Finally coming to a decision, Baldur warily shuffled forward. The other man, seeing this, slowly lowered his hand, still keeping his composure calm and turned away.    
  
“You are to come with me. You must find yourself again. You cannot be lost to your rage forever.”

For the first time since the fight, Baldur found his voice, barely above a whisper, “And what would you know about rage?”   
  
The other man looked over his shoulder as he strode toward the boat once more, his footsteps suddenly heavier.    
  
“Everything.”

Neither man noticed the emerald raven perched in the dead giant’s eye.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The water sloshed and splashed, rocking the tiny boat with each wave. Stars twinkled overhead, reflected in the dark abyss of the lake waters below, seemingly surrounding the men with motes of light blinking in time to the rhythmic stroking of the oar. Baldur closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of the air against his face. He took a deep breath, reveling in how the crisp air burned through his lungs. The sudden change had him in a short coughing fit, and that only added to his mood.  _ This is what I’ve been missing _ , he thought. He shifted, agitating the small vessel, and earned a dissatisfied grunt from the other man. Baldur glanced up to see the other man looking out over the horizon, eyes focused on nothing in particular. With the stars and moon shining above, and the shadows dancing across his skin, the other man was at once, terrifying, imposing, and surprisingly inviting. It was this last adjective that caused Baldur to absently drop his arm over the side. Something spurned him on and he leaned, his upper body following his right hand, which he then cautiously dipped into the opaque void. 

A small moan escaped him when the gelid liquid took him in. It was different from the biting wind earlier, instead of piercing and tearing at his flesh, this welcomed him, caressing him gently, luring him, and tempting him to give more; first his hand, then above his elbow. The sensation was overwhelming, and he couldn’t get enough.  _ Ohhh, how I missed...this.  _ He wanted to feel it all, have the water swallow him whole, inside and out. 

“Baldur”   
  
He felt the reverberations of the other man’s voice through the boat as he heard his name. Coming from him, it felt heavy...well, not heavy per se, but full? He turned, pulling his arm from the water and shifted back into the boat. Sullenly, he leaned back to gaze at the stars overhead. He spoke, before the thought had fully formed; already leaving his lips.

“I know what you are.” He faced the other man again, leveling his piercing blue eyes to observe the reaction. There was none. Baldur leaned forward, elbows on his knees as a mischievous grin slithered from his mouth and continued, “Odin told me to find the giant. Told me to get the door to Jotunheim open, and that the cure for what my mother did to me would be there.” He closed his eyes, recalling the rush of emotions flooding him when Odin said there was a cure. “Of course, I  _ know _ Odin, so I know there would be some trick, or some scheme to twist the outcome to his advantage. But I didn’t care. Even if there was no cure, at the very least I could have put an end to  _ Mother _ for what she stole from me,” the embers of rage that fueled him for the past century began to spark once more with indignation, threatening to ignite once again. 

One of his many fantasies came to him;  _ Freya bound to a tree, limbs broken and impaled with countless branches and weapons _ . His breath quickened as the image continued to play.  _ Slowly Baldur approaches, brandishing a silver dagger inlaid forged with the fires of Muspelheim and imbued with the same curse that infected Nifelheim. He saunters up to her, exaggerating each step, spewing epithets of hatred and prayers of condemnation in her name. Here, trapped and broken, Freya can’t resist, she cries out for forgiveness, sobbing his name, but Baldur revels in the display. He wants her to hurt. To FEEL everything he couldn’t over the years. He’s next to her now, running his hand through her hair, watching as rivulets of blood follow each pass of the dagger… _ _   
_ _   
_ “And what am I?” The voice breaks through the reverie, dissipating his thoughts. Baldur came back to the present, hands clenching and unclenching; breath ragged. He looked away to regain some composure, slowing his breathing to a steady pace. When he was ready, he turned back.   
  
“You are a  _ god _ .” 

“Hmph. Is that all?” The other man couldn’t have sounded more disinterested in the revelation.

“Like I said, Odin wanted me to find the last giant. If you are a god, and not a giant, then why was I able to track you across the realms?” His smirk widened as this time, there  _ was _ a reaction. Brief as it was, the other man’s face twisted in unbridled fury, but once again, settled into a state of impassiveness. Though his face settled, Baldur could see that the tension in his body remained. Another fight? Oh yes please! More pain! More pleasure! He could  _ feel  _ now, so he was going to feel as much as he could. “Even now, I can feel it. Not just from you, but from your boy as well. I didn’t notice it at first, but he has the mark of the giants-”

“Enough.” The small craft lurched as they touched sand in the shallows. He stepped off the boat, heading forward a few paces before addressing Baldur again. “I know what you are doing. It will not work. I do not wish to fight or kill you; as much as you may want to goad me into doing so. You are a slave to your own rage. Until you find who you were before, you are to remain here with me.”   
  
“And what if I don’t  _ WANT _ to be who I was before?” Spittle flew from his lips as the fury boiled to the surface again and he flailed his arms in anger. “Did you ever think about  **THAT** ? What if...I just turned around-” Baldur tipped around in a circle mocking a fairy, “and went on my merry way? What if-” this time he charged forward, stopping just short of the other man, arms raised ready to fight, “I decided to end  _ you _ , and THEN go after Mother?” His eyes widened with the thought, and he menacingly wrapped his hands around the other man’s throat. Slowly he began to tighten his grip, when suddenly he was on the ground, face in the mud and arms pinned behind his back.    
  
“You could try.” Nothing more was said as the mass of muscle stood. Baldur laid in the mud for a few more moments sputtering and cursing before dragging himself to his feet. When he finally regained his composure, the other man had already turned away, disappearing into the forest. Baldur was alone, on the beach, sopping wet with chunks of mud falling from his beard. He was tired, and hungry, but above all else,  _ he was alone _ . He could leave, make off for Asgard, or Even try to find Freya and the boy. He could end it. Even if the other god came to kill him, he could finally get everything he wanted for the past century!. As he readied himself to head off, away from the forest, a small voice whispered to him, _ "And then what would you do?”  _   
  
Begrudgingly, Baldur followed the footprints into the forest. 

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena smiled, now this is how you conduct yourself. “It is of no consequence, I assure you. Deimos was just voicing his displeasure with me for...a misunderstanding between us from long ago.” She collected her shield and strode to where her spear stood, jutting from the floor. 
> 
> “A misunderstanding? That understates what happened quite a bit, I would say.”

Athena stared at the man before her contemplating what he just said. If he had known…”You knew who I was, and yet you aided me anyway? Why? When did you realize?”

Deimos threw his head back as a hearty, full bellied laugh shook his frame, “Of _course_ I knew who you were. You still have the stench of Olympus about you.” The laughter ceased and his countenance twisted in rage as his voice began to rise, “The _same stench_ as when you and Ares **took me from my home and imprisoned me here**!” He was now in her space, eyes locked to hers and breath heaving. The rage was palpable...and justified. Still, Athena was a Goddess, and such mortal impropriety would not stand. 

“Your anger is indeed a righteous one, and I hold no fault of you for bearing it. We were on orders from Zeus to eliminate a perceived threat to Olympus. A task that would normally have ended in,” she paused, searching for the right words, but finding none before continuing on, “your death.” She stood tall, stoically matching his ire. “Originally, we were to kill you, I however persuaded Zeus to let you live. And just hold you here in Hades until we could determine the exact nature of the threat you posed to Olympus.”

**“I WAS A CHILD!”**

“Yes. You were. And I’ve long since come to regret the decision. You weren’t supposed to be left with Thanatos. You should have been here, in the Elysium Fields-”

“And that makes it _better_?” He seethed, shoulders tight and fist opening and closing. “How is one prison any better? From a hellhole to a gilded cage, it’s all the same.”

Athena sighed, as he was correct. Regardless of Tartarus or Elysium, he was imprisoned on the whim of the gods. But she was here to right one wrong (and save Greece in the process), so she should reconcile the original sin. She could tell him. She should tell him. 

But not yet. Not until she found who she needed. 

“Deimos. I cannot change the past. But once I find the person I’m looking for, I give you my word that I will make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me? MAKE IT UP TO ME? I was _imprisoned_ for **nothing**!” His arms swung wide as he turned in place, “Years of my life wasted down here, and you think you can **make it up to me**?” He stepped away from her, incredulous. “I should kill you where you stand.” His fist closed again.

“You could _try_.” Athena raised herself to her full Goddess height, towering over the smaller man. “I am **the** Goddess of War. And I have _never_ known defeat in battle. I can cut you down now…” she tapped her spear on the stone beneath them, leaving a small crater with spindling cracks spreading before her, “Or you can conduct yourself as befitting the presence of a goddess, so that I may free you from this place.” Moving past him, she turned to look over her shoulder, “The choice is yours Deimos. Do make the smart one.”

Deimos watched her for a few paces, “And who exactly are you looking for? Why would _‘the Goddess of War’_ come to the land of the dead?” 

His mocking tone was not lost on Athena. Nonetheless, it was better than having to kill him before he truly experienced life, so she let it pass unanswered for now. “I need to find a woman named Lysandra, of Sparta. She holds the key to rectifying a terrible mistake; the same mistake that is causing the unfortunate situation here.”

She heard Deimos pause behind her. “I know of a woman who shares that name. If she’s the one of whom you speak, I am not surprised you came to find her. She is..._remarkable_.” 

“Take me to her.”

“Why?”

“I already told you-”

“That she holds the key to fixing a mistake you made. But you never said what mistake or why she’s so important. If you want me to take you to her, you need to be more forthcoming.”

_He is truly insufferable_, Athena thought, _but not without reason_. “Know this. If you take me to her, all of your questions will be answered, AND, you will walk free from this place.”

Moments passed. Deimos stood, unmoving, warily regarding Athena. Exasperated, she finally spoke again, “Listen Deimos. I offer you a chance. I could find her myself. As a goddess, I can find a mortal should it be necessary. It would take time however. Time I do not wish to waste. If I find her without your help, by the Flames of Olympus, I will leave you down here to rot.”

“And there it is, at least. That ruthless Athena that I have so come to know in all my time in Hades. You would leave me here just because I didn’t help, even though you are the reason I’m here in the first place…” Deimos grinned. 

Again, he was right. She was a goddess. She was used to mankind bowing before her to appease her. But ever since the death of Zeus, the balance of power has shifted. The need for mortals to be subservient to the gods no longer existed, even if most did not fully realize it yet. Also, Deimos already thought he was dead, and suffered through the worst of Tartarus. What more could she honestly do to him? She would relent to his demand. Just enough to assuage him, no more. Her shoulders dropped as she sighed, “You are correct Deimos. And I apologize. The world has been torn asunder. Greece is on the verge of destruction, and I need to find Lysandra because I need her daughter-”

**“ANOTHER CHILD??** You think I would help you abduct _another_ child to further whatever scheme you have planned? Rot in Tartarus.” He spat both literally and figuratively with the last word. Once again, his fist closed. “I have had enough of this. You say the world is falling apart out there, yet you’re down here. Clearly you aren’t needed, so how about I kill you and spare the next world your problems?”

He crouched, muscles tensing and bulging, preparing for a lunge. In this stance, a vision of Kratos appeared before Athena, and while she was prepared to kill him to continue her mission, she knew she shouldn’t. Not if she wanted Kratos’ help. Let alone his forgiveness. “Deimos, I don’t want to-”

He was to her before she could finish the sentence; shield forward, and gauntlet raised to deliver the blow. Athena braced, balancing her weight in her hips. She caught his shield arm with her free hand, transferred the weight and used the momentum to toss him. He hit the wall, causing the stone to shudder and groan. He recovered quickly, shaking the daze from his head and charged again. This time, Athena double gripped her spear, and used the reach to keep him off balance. 

To his credit, and just like his brother, he was ferocious and relentless. Each blow he took only served to fuel his rage. He managed to catch her with a shielded backhand after a feint, and Athena rolled away from what would have been a fatal overhead blow. As she rolled, she heaved her shield, and Deimos predictably ducked away. She then quickly followed up by throwing her spear, missing him with a wide arc. Seeing her unarmed, he gleefully closed the distance.

She vaulted overhead, using Deimos as the apparatus. His focus was rightfully on her, and she was mid somersault when the shield ricocheted off the wall behind him. A loud crack filled the hall as Deimos went down with a slump, clutching the back of his head. Before he could recover, Athena retrieved her spear and stabbed him in the back, enough to wound, but not deep enough to kill. “Enough Deimos.”

“I am inclined to agree.” A sultry voice intoned. A woman, fully donning armor reminiscent of Persephone, stood behind her. Keeping an eye on Deimos, Athena beset her gaze upon her. 

She was, as Deimos told her, remarkable. She stood tall, nearly the same height as the body of Diana. Though she sported less musculature, she still seemed formidable enough due to the Spartan culture. A small tiara was nestled in among the styling of her auburn hair. Jewels twinkled in the thick braided plait encircling her crown. Her face held the countenance of a woman who had seen and experienced much in her life, and even Athena, goddess of war was enamored with the strength in which she carried herself. 

This had to be her.  
The other woman paid Athena little attention as she approached the fallen man. Standing before him, she reached out, “Deimos. What have you gotten yourself into now?” Deimos met her eyes, then quickly averted, gathering his composure as he stood. “This is not how we treat guests of the palace; especially ones from Olympus.” Finally she turned to address Athena, “My apologies Athena, had I known you were coming, I would have made myself present sooner.”

Athena smiled, _now this is how you conduct yourself_. “It is of no consequence, I assure you. Deimos was just voicing his displeasure with me for...a misunderstanding between us from long ago.” She collected her shield and strode to where her spear stood, jutting from the floor. 

“A misunderstanding? That understates what happened quite a bit, I would say.”

Athena sighed, contemplating how best to approach the situation. The goal was to get Kratos’ daughter. She didn’t necessarily NEED her mother’s permission, but, as Deimos is proof, severing familial ties with no thought is a disastrous undertaking. She needed Lysandra to _understand_.

“Lysandra. Please, there is something we need to discuss, but I wish to do it somewhere private.” 

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can speak in front of Deimos as well. He has been one of the only things that has helped me keep a semblance of order in this place.”

“It is not Deimos I am concerned with hearing,” Athena gestured down the hall. Peeking from around an ornate column were two pale green eyes, and a lavender headband. 

“Calliope! What have I told you about leaving the inner palace?”

“I heard fighting and I was scared! I didn’t want the monsters to get you!” The little girl ran from behind the pillar into her mother’s embrace, sobbing into her tunic. 

“Everything is fine my child. Your Uncle Deimos and this woman were having a contest, that’s all,” she turned to the other two adults. “Deimos, would you please take Calliope back to her room? I will speak to her elsewhere.” Eyes darting from one woman to the other, Deimos grunted his ascent and hefted the girl into the air. “Come now Calliope, why don’t you play me some of your music?” Her giggling and his raucous laughter faded as they went on their way. 

“Come with me. _Athena_.” The tension in Lysandra’s voice barely held, and again, Athena was struck by just how much wrong the gods had inflicted on this one family. How could she have been so blind to the plight of mortals before? A child imprisoned, man forced to kill his own wife and child, and then forced into servitude for ten years on a hope? All for the gods to dash that hope in the very end? How many other souls were here or elsewhere because Zeus and the rest of her family were insufferable? How many were because of her?  
Could she ever really atone for all of it?

The two women remained silent as Lysandra led her through the palace. Athena recognized all of the passageways, memories of happier times flitting in and about her mind. Finally, they reached what used to be Persephone’s private chambers. From the doorway, a foyer with stone and marble sculptures of legendary heroes greeted entrants. The open space led to a seating room, with a triclinium of couches arranged in the middle. Silk and satin sheets draped over the couches, and a large table stood behind. Usually laden with food and wine, the table now sat empty and forlorn. Beyond the table was the bedroom, which overlooked a large beach with alabaster sand and calm blue waters. 

Lysandra took her seat in the middle couch of the triclinium, and indicated for Athena to do so as well. 

Athena stood before her. 

“Well then,” Lysandra began, one leg crossed over the other and arms folded, “what brings you to the Underworld?”

_How to convince a woman betrayed by the gods to help those same gods once again? How to convince her to give up her daughter?_

“I need your help.”

Lysandra leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she regarded the goddess before her. “As I am sure you are aware, Hades is in dire need, and yet, the ruler of this domain hasn’t seen fit to lift a finger to help. Why are you not speaking with him? What is happening?”

“Hades is dead.” 

There was an audible chuckle and Athena turned to see Deimos standing in the doorway. “Don’t look at me like that Lysandra, Calliope is with Icarus in the throne room. I want to hear what she has to say.” Wordlessly, Lysandra moved over and Deimos thumped onto the couch next to her. 

“As I was saying, Hades is dead, as is Zeus and the majority of Olympus. Because of this, Greece is in chaos, and I need your help in order to save the survivors.” Deimos had a look of pure joy on his face, while Lysandra was more reserved, her face downcast and hand to her chin. 

“Who would kill the gods-”

“HE ACTUALLY DID IT!” Deimos erupted into laughter, screaming and hollering his unbridled jubilation, “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! KRATOS ACTUALLY GOT HIS REVENGE!”  
Athena met Lysandra’s gaze. “Is it true? Was Kratos responsible for the destruction of Olympus?”

“Yes.”

“Then may the dead gods suffer as the wicked are wont to do.” Her eyes never wavered and Athena felt a familiar power emanating from her. “If you have come to ask us to help restore Olympus then surely you must know you have wasted your time.” Lysandra gathered up her tunic and began to rise.

“That is not why I am here. Though I do have a request of you. Please, sit.” Lysandra looked to Deimos, who had not yet moved. He shrugged and stretched out his hand. She took her seat, “Make it quick. I have to get back to help the remaining souls stay safe.”

“And you are performing most excellently in this role. I assure you. However,” Athena paused, “It will all be for not if I cannot rely on this boon.” She saw the realization as it hit Deimos.

“ABSOLUTELY **NOT**!” He jumped to his feet, fist clenched again, “YOU WILL **NOT** TAKE HER! YOU WILL NOT HAVE CALLIOPE!” At this, Lysandra also was on her feet, face twisted in rage, eyes aglow. 

“IS THIS WHY YOU ARE HERE? TO TAKE MY DAUGHTER FROM ME?” She outstretched her hand and a grand scythe materialized. “Leave now, while you still live Athena. And Don’t Ever Return.”

Part of her wanted the challenge, to face two demigods in battle. Another part wanted to atone for her past sins, and give them the chance to face her and vanquish her with honor. But the last part, the tactician, the strategist, knew that neither option would end well. Especially not for them personally, but for Greece as a whole. Instead of brandishing her own weapons, Athena did the one thing no one could expect:

She kneeled.

Bowing before the new rulers of the Underworld, Athena rested her head on her hands in supplication. 

“Please. I do not wish to simply take Calliope from you. I wish to reunite her with her father.”

_Silence_

Moments passed, and no one said a word. Finally, Lysandra spoke, “Kratos lives? After destroying Olympus, you let him live? Why?”

Raising her head, Athena whispered, “At the time I would not have. But I too was killed by Kratos. Unlike the other gods, I somehow ascended to another state of being, retaining my form. I was angry, and he was wounded, and as I couldn’t touch him physically, I left him there to die. However, he is a stubborn one, and Hades was never enough to claim him.”

Lysandra continued, “And what does Calliope have to do with saving Greece? What is your scheme this time?”

“Are you MAD?!?!” Deimos interjected, “How can you trust her? How could you even consider-”

“I didn’t say I trusted her Deimos, only that I want to know.” She punctuated her statement by butting the scythe on the floor. “Continue. What is your plan?”

Athena stood, keeping her posture nonthreatening. _I have come this far…_

“From the creation of Greece, there has been a cycle: the skyfather meets the complementing earthmother, and she bears his children. Eventually A son rises, and kills his father and the cycle continues. With each continuation of the cycle, the Godhead becomes both more distilled, and more diluted...each generation is more defined than the previous, yet also, smaller in scope. Since Kratos has killed Zeus, the mantle of the Godhead has been passed once more. But Kratos also released Hope from Pandora’s box, and severed the Fates from the strings of Man. He has killed both the god of Death, and the Ruler of the Underworld. Essentially Kratos has freed mortals from the Gods.”

“You mean, mortals no longer have to serve the Gods?” 

“Correct, Deimos. Mortals are free to choose their own paths, their souls are no longer bound to the Will of Olympus.”

“Then why do you need Calliope?” Lysandra stepped forward. “What does my daughter have to do with this? And what happens to Hades, with Hades gone?”

Athena crossed her hands in front of herself, “I don’t _need_ Calliope. What I need is for Kratos to give up the Godhead; release the power to the land and the people of Greece. Because he is not in this realm, with Godhead not here, the Chaos is all consuming. He doesn’t even need to return himself, he just needs to release his claim to the Power-”

“So you can take it for yourself no doubt. Of course-”

“No Deimos. As I said before, each cycle changes the power. I am no longer capable of wielding it. None of us born solely of Olympus can.” She regarded the two before her, “But those who are as Kratos can. If they so choose.”

“This doesn’t answer my question, Athena”

“Lysandra. I know the gods have been cruel to your family. If not cruel, then at the very least callous. Me taking Deimos as a child; Ares enslaving your husband and his treachery in having you and your daughter killed, and then the rest of us using him for our own ends. I know there is nothing I can do to atone for everything, but I do want to make an attempt. An offering, to the new Godhead.” She paused, animating a statue of a little girl to play around the room. “I only want to give Calliope the life she should have had. One with her Father.”

“And what of her Mother? What am I to do? How can she even leave this place?”

“Because of the blood of Olympus, just like her Father, Hades has a weaker grip on her. And her Uncle. Both were born of Zeus, and both can leave, should they prove strong enough.”

“And what of me? I just stay here, with no way to see my family again? Why would I agree to this?”

“Because you are her Mother, and because you love her and wish for a better world for her. Both of our families have done untold horrors to one another in retaliation for past deeds. My wish is to build a better future. I feel the power in you, Lysandra. I feel Hera running through your veins. How do you think you were able to sit upon the throne of a Goddess?” Deimos’ mouth dropped as he turned to the woman beside her, “Unfortunately, just like Persephone, you have partaken of the power of the Underworld and are bound.” If she were a weaker woman, Lysandra would have broken, but as befitting the wife of the Ghost of Sparta, she held her composure.

“So I must send my child, and my..._companion_,” she glanced at Deimos, blushing, “and remain here alone?”

“Not necessarily,” Athena pulled a small figurine of an owl from a pouch on her hip. “I can place the mortal portion of your soul in this vessel. Your essence would be bound within, and any member of your family who holds this vessel can both feel you and call upon you in time of need.”

Lysandra regarded the figurine, turning it over in her hand. “Assuming all goes according to your plan, what next?”

Athena just stared at her, “What do you mean?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes, _“And then what would you do?”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sighing, Athena dropped to kneeling and hung her head, “Very well. You have a right to know everything.” And with that, she told in childlike detail, what exactly the Gods had done: kidnapping of Deimos, the servitude, Ares’ trickery, the revenge wrought by both sides. She spared no detail and sought no equivocation. When Calliope looked to her face when Athena was done, she saw the tears in her eyes that matched her own. “So you see child, Calliope, that in order for the world to be made whole, I need to find your father. I also, in my own way, want to try and make him whole as well. Your mother cannot leave Hades, but you and Deimos can. If you will accompany me, I can take you to your father, and you can live with him, live the life that was stolen from you so long ago.”

“Calliope, why are we going to the garden? Deimos told us to stay inside the palace. We should not be heading outside for no reason.” Icarus’ voice trembled as they reached the doors leading outside, “We should go back before he and your mother return as neither one of them are the easiest to deal with then are upset.” 

The young girl rolled her eyes. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who took flight as a boy on a flimsy pair of wings to escape a prison; or so the rumors went. Now he was just a feeble and probably senile old man who jumped at every shadow, cursing the “Fallen God” that stole his wings, and his Fate. “We won’t be long. I just want to play in the fountain. As she spoke, she gripped a small wooden flute to her chest. She locked eyes with the older man, and overcome with a feeling of melancholy and nostalgia, he nodded his ascent. 

“Very well. I shall accompany you to your performance, young lady.” He took an exaggerated bow, then held out his elbow for her to take, which she reciprocated with a light curtsy before accepting his offer. They reached the archway that opened into the palatial gardens. Even though Persephone was long dead, the garden still flourished. Exoctic plants found from everwhere in Greece and even from places beyond climbed numerous trellises; flowers spilled from their beds towards the walkway, with colors washing from one unknowable name to another. In the middle stood a small grove of pomegranate trees, their fruit ripe and plump, full and very nearly begging to be plucked and savored. Had she not known better, Calliope would have been like many of the gullible who trusted the bloody fruit and let Hades seep permanently into their veins. Instead, like in most things, she heeded her mother’s words, and left the beckoning saplings alone. She meandered around, humming to nothing in particular. Icarus stayed just within earshot, catching the notes gently floating. He babbled on and on as he trailed her, once again relishing in the fancy of flight, wanting to recapture the fleeting feeling of freedom he once possessed. Calliope nodded politely, not uninterested in what he was saying; merely unimpressed. Why should she be, when she experienced so much more?

She took her time in the garden glancing back every few paces to assess the older man. With each pass, he fell further and further behind. His steps slowed to a trudge, and eventually, he took a seat on one of the many benches. “I’m-” yawn “just gonna rest here for a bit. Do not go too far young…” he was out before he finished the sentence, and Calliope took off for her real destination. 

Slipping through the palace had become common practice for her. She had never been one to get into serious trouble, but having Kratos as a father also meant that she was prone to an adventure every now and then. As she ducked away from some patrolling warriors, hiding behind the shield of a massive statue, what she was doing now reminded her of the time she trailed her father, angry because he had been so secretive lately. 

_Kratos stopped just shy of the edge of their land, surveying his surroundings, a look of contemplation on his face. Calliope had seen this coming and prepared a hiding spot earlier: crouching in the tall grass and crawling to the divit she hollowed out and covered with straw the night before. Surprisingly, it seemed more comfortable than it did the previous night, with many of the rocks and sticks not agitating her as much. She shifted, waiting for her father to move for what seemed like hours. He must have felt secure, as he shrugged those mountains called his shoulders, and strode off. _

_It took a little effort on her part to keep pace, especially since she was trying not to be seen or heard, but she managed to do it. He was walking at a slower pace than normal, a clear sign to Calliope that something was amiss. When he came to a curve in the path, instead of heading up towards the village center, instead, he stopped again, and looked around. After making sure no one was following him, he stepped into the thicket that marked the edge of the forest. This was further than Calliope had ever been “by herself” into the forest. The trees seemed angrier and twisted. Their bark more like talons than branches. When she listened, there weren’t any birds singing or insects chirping. In fact, it seemed like the sky itself was darkening even though there were no clouds. Her heart sped up as fear began to creep within her. Her breathing quickened as she suddenly realized:_

_SHE WAS LOST. _

_Calliope had been so focused on her surroundings, that she lost track of her father! How could she? That wasn’t supposed to happen! Now what should she do? As the fear began to bubble even further to the surface, she remembered some of her father’s advice, “Once fear wins, you have lost.”_

_Instead of panicking, she closed her eyes, and took deep breaths. Once she calmed down, she started back towards the direction of the road. Even if she couldn’t catch him today, she would soon find out what he was up to. As she exited the brambles into a clearing, there he was sitting on a stump, his knife in one hand and a long piece of wood in another. _

_“I am pleased to see that you made it. You have passed your first lesson,” he began, a smirk on his lips. “Now begins your next.” With that he tossed the wood at her feet. Calliope reached down, grinning as she picked up the wooden sword._

Once the patrol passed, she slipped from behind the shield and made her way to her mother’s chambers. She didn’t know who the other woman was, but Calliope was sure she was important. But why would Deimos fight her? The woman was tall, and very pretty, and strong too. Why would Deimos want to hurt someone like that? She continued down the hall, hearing the voices of her mother, Deimos, and the other woman as they rose in volume and intensity. 

“-have her interests at heart! I am her _**MOTHER**_! How DARE you insinuate otherwise.”

“I’m just saying that we shouldn’t so easily trust her! You see what she’s done to my family to _your husb_-”

“And as I avowed before, I am truly sorry for the pain I caused, and only wish to make it right! However, there is one detail we have neglected in our discussions.”

“And what praytell, is that _Athena_?” 

The wind rushed past her ears violently as Calliope suddenly found herself manifest in the center of the room, “We are neglecting to ask the one person who needs to be involved, of her thoughts on the matter.”

Six pairs of eyes looked down at the young girl: one still flush with anger, another worried, and the last, the ones that belonged to the woman (_Athena? As in the Goddess?!?!?!_) were warm and inviting. It was the woman behind those eyes that moved first, crouching before Calliope, and meeting her. 

“As you no doubt have heard, I am Athena, Goddess of War. I have come to ask a favor of your mother, but also of you,” Calliope saw Deimos move, and Lysandra bar him with her arm, shaking her head. Athena, taking a moment, continued, “Deimos tells the truth. Myself and my family, the rest of the gods of Olympus have done great and terrible things. Some of those things include both Deimos and your father.” Calliope gasped in shock. How could such a nice, beautiful lady have done anything wrong to anyone? Why would she want to hurt Father? Father was just a soldier! He fought brave battles to save people and protect his family!

“What did you do to Father? Is he hurt? Why are you here?”

“What I did. What my family did is a long story. One that I would tell if you-”

“NO! I want to know NOW! What happened to my father!?!?” The quiver in her voice betrayed her strong countenance.

Sighing, Athena dropped to kneeling and hung her head, “Very well. You have a right to know everything.” And with that, she told in childlike detail, what exactly the Gods had done: kidnapping of Deimos, the servitude, Ares’ trickery, the revenge wrought by both sides. She spared no detail and sought no equivocation. When Calliope looked to her face when Athena was done, she saw the tears in her eyes that matched her own. “So you see child, Calliope, that in order for the world to be made whole, I need to find your father. I also, in my own way, want to try and make him whole as well. Your mother cannot leave Hades, but you and Deimos can. If you will accompany me, I can take you to your father, and you can live with him, live the life that was stolen from you so long ago.”

Calliope looked to first her mother, then to her uncle. “I-I want to go. I want to see Father.” _sniffsniff_, “But I don’t want to leave you here alone.” She wrapped her arms around her mother, clinging to the fabric of her tunic and burying her face to hide her tears.”

“Shhh shhh,” Lysandra coaxed, stroking her daughter’s hair, “It will be alright. Today is the day that I had been praying for since our deaths. I have wanted nothing more than for you to escape this place, and live a full and wondrous life. Besides, you have spent enough time with me for more than one lifetime,” she pulled Calliope away from her to meet her eyes, “It’s time to go bother your father for a bit.” Her smile, while small and speckled with tears, still showed assurance. Of course, this caused Calliope to sniffle even more, before Deimos stepped forward, 

“Be calm child,” He put his hand on her shoulder, “I will stay here with your mother.” All eyes turned to him, “Listen. I’m not leaving here until I am sure that there is a way back. One that is for me,” he added, cutting off Athena’s protest. 

“Are you sure, Deimos? You have been here for so long...you could leave here right now and resume the life that was stolen from you as well.”

“I have already decided Lysandra.” He cupped her face and turned to Calliope. “The choice is still yours, girl. But if you do go, tell my brother I am still alive, and I will come to him eventually.”

Calliope nodded. Addressing Athena she gave her answer, “I want to go. I want to see Father.” 

“As you wish, Calliope. Lysandra, know this: I truly am sorry for my part in how much trouble my family has caused yours. You have every assurance that nothing will come to harm her. I swear on-”

“Enough Athena. If anything happens to Calliope, I will destroy Hades and the world above to kill you myself.” One last time, she turned to her daughter. “I love my daughter, and you will always be the Victory under my wings.”

* * *

Calliope craned her neck, and even still couldn’t see the opening of the pit. _How do I get out of here_?” Seemingly sensing her thoughts, Athena reassured her, “You are the daughter of a Son of Zeus. Just as he made the climb, so too can you. Be prepared though, that every journey is different, and yours will be no less difficult than his.” At that moment, a horde of undead broke through one of the brittle walls surrounding them, “Go child! I will hold them. You must climb! Do not stop until you are free!”

Calliope looked back and saw Athena dive into the fray. Taking her indecision as an opportunity, an undead soldier rushed her. At that moment, she had no choice…

Calliope had to leap. 

It felt like forever as she hung in the air, floating to the next ledge. The hand that reached for her ankle missed and Calliope screamed as the jutting rock dug into her fingers. She pulled herself up, her muscles on fire. And that was just the first jump! But still, she couldn’t afford to stop. Not with her freedom at stake and so close. First one jump, then the next. Slowly, she made her way up, each pull hurting more than the previous. The closer she got to the top, the more her arms began to drag. It was getting harder to lift her weight and she began to choke. Coughing and sputtering, she pulled herself over the edge, her throat on fire. Searing pain sliced through her throat. _Nononononononono_!!! She crawled forward, her limbs barely responding to her commands. She could see a light peeking through the slats of a wooden door; thunderous sounds pounding from the other side. 

As she inched forward, each breath ripping from her lungs, Calliope could feel the darkness coming on. It was just like before, _when her father killed her_. Reach the door. Turn the knob, push through…

She collapsed onto the dusty floor of a home. Ash blew into the room from the opening to the outside and howling winds battered the walls. The sounds of battle raged outside; men crying out to their gods and women screaming as their husbands and families were taken before their eyes. From the rear of the house she heard a familiar voice, “Calliope! Hurry! We must hide.” It was her mother, for sure, but what was she doing here? She should still be in Hades, shouldn’t she? Without thinking, she followed her mother’s voice, ending up in the back room. “Here, take this,” Lysandra shoved a pack into her hands, desperately shoving more items into another pack. 

“Mother...what are you doing-”

**BOOM!!!** The door exploded inward, splintering and sending wood ricocheting around the room. A figure stood, silhouetted with shadow, the fires from the burning village framing and illuminating their stature. A trail of blood ran in rivulets down their arms, pooling in the doorframe. Each hand held a large serrated blade, with chains that… 

Oh. 

OH. 

At the same moment Calliope realized what was happening, the man, _her father_ launched his attack. She saw the first chain as it ripped across her mother. The second blade whistled through the air toward her, but she was ready. Calliope ducked through the attack, rolling under the blade, and sidestepping the return strike. Recognizing her moment, she grabbed the returning weapon, letting the man’s strength pull her to him. He raged, screaming curses and taunts, but Calliope wrapped herself around him, holding as tightly as she could. 

“Father it’s me! It’s Calliope! I love you!” 

“Calliope? What-” Before he could finish the sentence, he froze. In fact, everything froze; the fires, the people, nothing moved. Calliope fell since he was no longer holding her, and the pain brought a white flash behind her eyes. When she next opened them, she was lying on the ground, shivering, and exposed in the very place where she was previously slain. Standing before, Athena presented her with a small chiton and sandals. 

“I am pleased to see that you made it Calliope. Now we shall begin the first part of our journey.” 

“And what is that?” 

“We must first go to where all of this began,” Athena pointed to a vague point in the distance. “We head to Olympus. There is much to prepare.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “_HE LEFT ME THERE!_” she howled, the sound echoing from the hills. “He came down. Down to me and Mother and then left! Why would he do that if he loved us?” This time a sob shook her tiny frame and she buried her face in her hands. This was an unexpected angle that Athena had not even considered herself. What if Kratos had changed? What if-

Athena watched as the little girl ran ahead of her; frolicking in the grass that lined the pathway they were traveling, and taking time to chase butterflies and other insects should she startle on from a petal. Though she was worried about how Calliope would fare upon her return to the living, it seemed that the young demigoddess was no worse for the wear after the initial shock of her resurrection. 

After some time on the road, Calliope has calmed to a more manageable pace, seemingly burning decades of pent up energy out of her system. She walked quietly beside Athena, worrying the hem of her chiton, tiny brows furrowed in deep thought. The goddess could practically _hear_ the wheels turning in her mind. Allowing for some time, in case Calliope wanted to talk first, she turned her attention back to the road ahead of them. It twisted and turned over the hills and valleys before them. Dotting the landscape every so often would be an abandoned farmstead, or small village with just a few people scrounging out an existence. Between the flood from Poseidon’s death and the plague from Hera’s, mankind was on the brink of extinction. For days they made their way in relative silence, until finally Calliope broke.

It was during a stop at a traveler’s rest; Athena had just filled their skins with fresh water, returning to where she had left the young girl. Calliope, sitting on the ground, with her arms wrapped around her legs, was fiddling with a small wooden flute, eyes red and swollen with fresh tear stains near her neckline. To her credit, she wasn’t wailing or drawing unwanted attention, but her sniffles and coughs still pierced some part in Athena’ chest. She rushed forward, falling to her knees beside the weeping child. 

“Oh Calliope, what is bothering you?” She reached a tentative hand out, but stopped short. She wasn’t this girl’s mother, and in fact, might be the last person whom Calliope wanted to have contact with. Instead, she dropped her hand back into her own lap. “Tell me, Child, why do you cry so?”. In response, Calliope shook her head, her brown tresses bouncing and coiling. Her face screwed into an all too familiar rage, and Athena gasped. The young girl faced the goddess, eyes ablaze and wrath engulfing her. She glanced between her flute and Athena, and back again, then with no explanation, hurled the instrument as far as she could into the trees. Wordlessly, she stood up, and marched to the other end of the site, laid down and went to sleep. 

Waiting until she was sure she wouldn’t wake, and making sure protections were in place, Athena too disappeared into the thicket.

* * *

The next morning was spent in uncomfortable silence. After breakfast and some light exercise, they again started on their way. For hours, they walked without a word between them; only the irritating buzz of the insects, and the rustling of wind to remind them that the world outside remained. Eventually Athena had enough and turned to Calliope.

“Will you-”

“Do we still have to go?”

Athena stopped, this time actually grabbing the young girl’s hand. “Why Calliope, what changed your mind?” Again, tears began to well in her eyes, and she wiped them away with her wrist.

“What if Father doesn’t recognize me? What if he has a new family? What if he doesn’t love me anymore?” She openly began crying.

“Why would you say these things Calliope? Of course your father loves you! He-”

“_HE LEFT ME THERE!_” she howled, the sound echoing from the hills. “He came down. Down to me and Mother and then left! Why would he do that if he loved us?” This time a sob shook her tiny frame and she buried her face in her hands. This was an unexpected angle that Athena had not even considered herself. What if Kratos had changed? What if- 

No, he would never. The Kratos she knew, down in the very fiber of his being, beneath the rage, and bloodlust, was more than a soldier, more than a whirlwind of carnage incarnate. Beneath all that, the one thing that Athena could count on, was that he loved his family. Forever and always. When most people said they would bring you the moon, Kratos was one to find a way to do it. 

“Oh child,” Athena cooed as she embraced the bawling girl. “He left _because_ he loved you. Do not give me that look, and let me finish.” She began wiping Calliope’s face with her own cloth. “Your father went down to Hades to stop an evil plan. Persephone tried to trick him. She wanted him to stay so that she could destroy the pillar that separates the world. If he had, and if she would have succeeded, terrible things would have happened.”

“Terrible things are happening now,” Calliope whined. 

“Yes they are. And they are because our fathers could not let their hatred of each other go. But know this: **Everything** your father did, every breath he took, and every path he walked, he did without ever forgetting you, or ceasing to love you. The one thing he asked, when his service to the gods was done, was to make it so that your deaths never happened; either in reality or in his mind. He wanted the nightmares gone. And we, not taking into consideration anything other than our own hubris, denied him even that. So while your Father wrecked a terrible vengeance upon my family, and many others; I cannot say I do not understand his anger.”

With that, Calliope calmed down, her breathing slowing and sobs becoming weaker. Athena continued, “And even if he has a new family, that does not mean that you cannot be a part of it. I am certain that he would love nothing more than to love all of you together.”

After that tumultuous morning, Calliope slowly became the fun little girl she was previously. She resumed her humming and singing, all while chasing birds and whatever small animals they came across. Once again, the duo took their rest for the evening, and Calliope stared into the fire, 

“What is on your mind now child?” Athena prodded as she poured some gruel into a small bowl for them. She blew to cool the temperature before handing it over. 

“I was just wondering why, we’re walking. When you were talking to Mother, you made the journey to my father seem important, so why are we taking our time? Could you not just take us to Olympus on your own power?”

Athena chuckled. It was a smart question; one that she was sure was going to come up eventually. “The simple answer is, I could. We could have been on Olympus days ago, you are correct. But there are other considerations. One: you needed time to get used to being...here again. I needed the same when I first came back as well. Two: like I mentioned to your mother and uncle - our power is waning over this realm. We need to get what little of it Kratos has back. I want to conserve as much of my power as I can. Once we get to Olympus, I will use our means to find him, and then hopefully, have enough power to bring us as close to him as possible. Using any large amount before that might be disastrous. Besides, we are close. It should only be another day or two. See that mountain there? The entrance to Olympus is at the base.”

Calliope nodded, blew on her food a second time and began eating. Athena watched as the little girl brought the bowl to her lips and slurped loudly. She smiled when Calliope burped, blushing at the sound, and laughed when it happened again, even more loudly a second time. Eventually she saw the little girl fall asleep, the warmth and light from the small flame dancing over her body, giving her an ethereal glow that reminded her of the sunsets she witnessed from the highest peak of her home. In that moment, a singular tear traced its way down her face, and she _understood_. No longer was the statement “your father loves you” one of detachment; it was one of empathy. 

They woke early as usual and resumed the journey once more. With each passing hour, the mountain grew closer and closer, looming over them just as the sun began to set behind them. Shadows grew long, and the air stilled once they reached the base. Athena was on edge; something didn’t seem right. “Careful, someth-”

Before she could finish her sentence, a behemoth of a man surged from the bushes wielding a warhammer the size of which would make Ares jealous. Following his lead, two more men joined in the ambush, brandishing their own weapons. They barked in an unintelligible language, and from their armor, Athena quickly surmised that these men were no more than barbarians come to pick clean the carcass of a dying Greece. She sidestepped the first man, spinning in place, and letting his momentum carry him past his mark. Summoning her spear from the aether, she took a defensive stance, ready to engage the brutes. “Calliope, I need you to hide somewhere safe, I’ll be back for you in a moment.”

No sooner than had she said those words, the two other men took their shot together. With near flawless precision and teamwork, they soon had Athena losing ground, nearly pinning her to a rocky protrusion. They moved in unison, and judging from their features, were clearly brothers, maybe even twins. Just as one was coming from above with his shield, the other aimed his blade at her feet, hoping that one of them would take advantage of the fact that she couldn’t block both. 

Of course they were wrong. She was the Goddess of War after all. 

Athena hopped backwards, thrusting her spear into the rock behind her. Twisting with her whole body, she hefted the rock into a makeshift hammer, slinging the boulder at the two men. The first brother, the one trying for the overhead, was just far enough out of reach to take a last second dive. His brother, unfortunately, was not so. The impact sent a disgusting crunch along the wall of the mountain, his face caving, and neck snapping simultaneously. The only consolation was that he was killed instantly. The first one let out a mournful wail at the loss of his kin, and renewed his attack with vigor. His anger and grief propelled him forward, but also made his movements sloppy and easily countered. His ax sliced through the air, missing her chest by inches, and she retaliated in kind, a short thrust aimed at his torso. His shield skill was extraordinary however, as he managed deflect at the last second, leaving _her_ torso exposed. He went for the outward slice and this time, she wasn’t so lucky. The blade tore through her clothing, opening a large gash across her midsection. She stumbled back, pain lancing through the wound. As the blood began to seep forth, her attacker licked his lips while muttering. She didn’t need to understand his words to understand his intent. Besides, she had never lost a fight, and she wasn’t going to let _this man_ be the one to get the better of her. 

He raised his ax and shield again, preparing for another attack. Athena gripped her spear with both hands, spearhead pointing between his eyes. They circled each other, low and tense. At the moment when they were to both lunge, another agonizing scream pierced the vale and Athena’s blood drained, _**Calliope**_. The sound cut short and a second later there was a thump on the ground between them; the very first man’s head rolling toward his companion, eyes still alive for just a few more seconds. The two men locked gazes, when a dagger whistled through the air, squelching as it plunged into the skull of the severed head. Sauntering forth, wiping the blood from her hands, Calliope pushed the brush out of her way, and calmly stepped on the dead head, and ripped the dagger from the skull. She tossed the dagger at the feet of the remaining man, and barked in his language. His eyes went from Athena, back to Calliope, and he quickly turned tail, fleeing in the direction they came. 

Athena, still shocked from the scene could only whisper “Calliope?”

The little girl tilted her head, a look of confusion on her face, “What? Did I do something wrong?”

No-no...of course not, but how...where…?”

“From where else? My father taught me.” She spun in place, blood soaked chiton billowing out like from any little girl and stepped up to an ornate carving on what looked like a doorframe to nowhere, “Is this the entrance? I want to see Olympus.”

* * *

Olympus was not the home she recognized. Though the gold and marble adornments still stood, there was an air of dinge and grunge that tainted the walls, seeping into every crevice and corner. The flame that once burned in the middle of the Great Hall was now nothing more than embers, and denizens that may have paraded around the halls were either long dead, or elsewhere. It was not a thing of beauty. But then, Athena hadn’t expected it to be, and had given no illusions to her charge either.

They made their way through the cellos, tables still set for a dinner that would never happen again, food rotting on plates that reflected the faintest of lights with dazzling colors; through the courtyard, where once verdant and lucious bushed were reduced to mere brambles and twisted skeletons of their former selves; down through the living quarters, where there were no living; and finally to a grandiose door at the end of a lengthy corridor. Until now, Athena had pointed out important parts of the palace, giving a Calliope a rushed tour. Now they stood in silence, facing a door emblazoned with two crossing lightning bolts surrounded by a wreath.

“Where does this lead?” the younger goddess whispered, her voice passing along the walls.

“This is my father’s armory. We will need proper gear and weapons for our journey.” Athena traced the lighting bolts with her fingers and stepped into the glow that emanated from them. A beam of light formed from where they crossed, bathing her in its glow. It pulsed tree times, each time more intensely, until suddenly ceasing. A loud hiss filled the room as steam flowed from vents along the walls. When all was said and done, the mechanisms behind the door gave a loud groan and began to pull open. 

Inside the room were various tables and tools; weaponry of all kinds neatly stacked and shelved and mannequins with a plethora of armor and styles posed throughout. “Be careful to not touch anything Calliope. We need to determine what would suit you best before we begin.” Athena left the girl to her own devices, and moved to gather what she thought she would need. First, she spied the roiling quiver on a dias in the corner. She fastened the corresponding bracelet to her wrist, and reached in. She could feel the power coursing through the lightning bolts even without actually touching them. In one of Zeus’ many acts of wisdom, he bade Hephaestus to fashion an never ending supply, so that should a time of crisis arrive, Olympus would never be without his power. _Thank you for your wisdom, Father_.

Next she summoned her spear and shield once more before approaching the forge. Carefully, she stripped it of its original material, and began entwining a few of the lighting bolts around and within it’s shaft and spearhead. This, she dipped into the forge, coating it with what little adamantine she could find around. She forged them together, lightning and spear, creating a weapon that she was sure even Zeus himself would want to wield. Finally, she donned a suit of armor that she had let sit in this room for far too long: a bronze and leather chestplate, with golden accents, accentuated by a heavy cape with a fur collar and a tiara to match. She took a moment to commune with the garment, along it to attune to her energies. Once done, she dismissed the suit, storing it in her personal aetherius. Repeated this process twice more, with a more traditional leather armor set, and with one that was even more protective and ornamental that sacrificed mobility, but definitely announced her station as a Goddess. When she was finished, she materialized the first piece. This is what she would wear.

She returned to the foyer, sure that as a child, Calliope would have wandered off and maybe broken a few things, but to her surprise the girl was still there, right where she had left her. 

“Are you ready to begin Calliope? We need to find you a suitable weapon. What has your father traine you with?”

“I already know what i want,” she replied, sheepishly looking at the floor. _Oh_?

“And what is that dear?”

With a fluid movement akin to a dancer, the younger goddess spun around and flung her arm towards an empty mannequin. Athena gasped and her eyes widened in shock and horror as a familiar ringing sound whistled through the air and a serrated blade whipped toward the defenseless construct. With another spin and pull, the chain returned to her small hand, easily caught.

After a moment of regaining her composure, all Athena could ask was, “Are you sure?”

Calliope nodded and Athena took the chain. Once again she reached into the forge and crafted another weapon. “Then come now Calliope, and wield the chain that your father, Kratos, wielded before you. Take this now, and wear it proudly, for you are now in possession of the Blade of Athena.” She returned the weapon to the girl, instructing her on some secondary uses before picking out some armor for her to wear herself. 

When all was said and done, Calliope looked the part: leather bound armor inlaid with smaller metal pieces for protection; the golden Blade, tucked into a sheath on her thigh, and on her left hip, a chakram for distant foes. 

They were now back in the cellos, facing the large brazier that used to house the Flame of Olympus. 

“Are we ready? How do we find my father?”

“With this.” Athena pointed to the unlit flame. “I could do this myself, and it would take some time, but I would be weak afterwards. There is a way to speed up the process however.” she turned to the young girl. 

“How?”

“I need you to stand in the flame, It will burn, but not like a real fire. More like when you stand in the sun for too long. As that is happening, I would need you to concentrate on your father; memories, thoughts, but especially your love for him. The fire will feed on that, like a regular one does a draft, and should open a way to him as closely as possible.”

Calliope considered, “What if it doesn’t work?” Will we be killed?”

“No. The fire always works. The only uncertainty is if we shall travel to the same place,” She saw the fear begin to creep into Calliope’s eyes and hurriedly continued. “But rest assured, **if** we are separated I **will** find you. Nothing shall harm you. I promised your mother, and I promise you.

Hope renewed, they began the rite. And all was going well until the portal opened, the hall filled with snow, and a large hand reached through grabbing Calliope just before the entire room went white.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few moments passed. Silence punctuated the choking noises between the starting and stopping attempts at vocal communication. The man probed again. “Why do you wish to die?” The gravel from his voice rumbled again through Baldur’s body, meeting that rage and sorrow head on. 
> 
> Barely above a whisper, Baldur managed to finally utter, “Because I don’t deserve to live,” Assuming the next question he continued, “What kind of monster wants to kill their own family? Their own mother?” He managed to lift his eyes to meet the other pair, “Even worse, what kind of monster fails?”

Baldur reached the clearing, having managed to either wipe or shake most of the larger clumps of mud from his beard. It was getting difficult to keep his footing for some reason. The path was sodden and uneven, with patches of unmelted snow and ice concealing divots and other hazards, but even that could not account for just how heavy his limbs were. On top of that there was a pain coming from his stomach that wavered between dull and uncomfortable to stabbing and unbearable. 

Ever slowly, he followed the footprints laid before him. There was a change in the air as he ventured deeper into the vale. It was still. Quiet. _Tranquil_ his mind supplied. A perk, if you could call it that from living with someone as well traveled and well spoken as his brother Tyr. A solitary building marched toward him. He remembered this building from what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

He stood, facing the door. Long ago, in that other lifetime, he dutifully, _gleefully_ beat on this very door. He didn’t know then; what that little action meant. He had instigated that fight; punching, slapping, hounding - doing everything he could to get to the violence, in the hope that maybe a giant would have been the one to break the curse. He was wrong, of course. Both about the giant, and the curse. 

Nevertheless, the door stood. Silence permeated through the wooden slats, and even pressing his eyes and ears to the spaces, Baldur could discern no movement from within. He surveyed the clearing yet again. There was still time. He could turn away; that nagging voice of reason be damned. He doubled over as the pain in his stomach spiked yet again.

He knocked.

No movement came from within. No shuffling, no words. Nothing. Baldur knocked again, louder this time. With each subsequent pounding, his arm got heavier, the movement more difficult to do. “What the Hel is going on?_ **OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!**_”

No response. 

Frustrated, cold and reeling from whatever was going on within him, Baldur leaned on the door. It wasn’t enough to fully open, but he did feel it shudder. He pushed harder, the effort straining him more than it should have. His shoulder began to hurt, slats digging into his muscle, the cold adding to the toll. With one final surge, he threw his weight forward, causing the wooden obstacle to burst open, depositing him on the floor with a loud crash.

He felt the vibrations from the other man as he lay on the floor in a pile of limbs. Canting his head upwards and to the left, he could just make out the movement from the other side of the room. “You heard me knocking! Why didn’t you let me in?”

“Because then, you would not have done it yourself.”

Groaning and rolling his eyes at the obvious and stale answer, Baldur began the arduous task of separating himself from the floorboards. Of course, fate would have it that when he was almost halfway to standing, that pain once again flooded him and his knees buckled, sending him right back down. “What is this damnable pain? What have you done to me?” The words barely escaped his grimace. 

“I have done nothing to you Baldur. But if I were to say-”

“If you were to say **what**?” Another aborted attempt at standing. “From the moment you spared me, you have said little. All you’ve done is string me along behind you, expecting that I’ll follow for whatever reason. _Why_?” This time, he made it up. Still bent over, hands on his knees, but better than the distasteful prostrating from before. Why was this happening? What was he even doing here? This was a terrible idea, he should have gone after mother! This wasn’t fair. All he wanted was an end to the curse, an end to the screaming void in his head, but IT’S STILL HERE! Why was it still here? Hasn’t he suffered enough? When will it be enough? This brute says he knows rage. How could he possibly know rage, rage like this? The kind of rage that consumes you from your very bones, and spreads to your thoughts, your breath and everythi-

“**BALDUR. Enough.** Again, the aether twisted in that familiar sense of a Domain. It wasn’t until the interjection that Baldur realized that his stream of consciousness wasn’t just in his consciousness; and also that he had openly been sobbing. 

On the floor. 

Again.

“Why do you continue this? Why couldn’t you let me die?”

“Why do you want to die Baldur?” The other voice was closer, breath grazing his ear. It caused the younger god to flinch from the proximity, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. 

A few moments passed. Silence punctuated the choking noises between the starting and stopping attempts at vocal communication. The man probed again. “Why do you wish to die?” The gravel from his voice rumbled again through Baldur’s body, meeting that rage and sorrow head on. 

Barely above a whisper, Baldur managed to finally utter, “Because I don’t deserve to live,” Assuming the next question he continued, “What kind of monster wants to kill their own family? Their own mother?” He managed to lift his eyes to meet the other pair, “Even worse, what kind of monster fails?”

If he hadn’t been looking he wouldn’t have believed it: the anguish that twisted the other man’s features for just a moment; the single tear slipping down his face. The older man took a moment to compose himself before speaking. 

“It means you are the kind of person worth sparing.” He stood, and for a fleeting second Baldur missed him, even though he was still present.

“I don’t even know who you are…I know you’re a god, and you claim to know about rage, and want to treat me of mine. Why should I stay? Can you take it away? Can you make me like before? Can you make me forget?”

“I will not lie to you Baldur: I cannot restore you to who you were before. I cannot take away the rage. I can only help you overcome it, perhaps repurpose it. And doing so will give you the strength to keep going. As for who I am. Let me be clear. You staying here; coming through that door, have made a choice. While you are here, you will do as I say. Do you accept this?”

Another choice. Another chance to leave. He glanced from the man to the door and back, curling and uncurling his fingers as another wave of pain ripped through him. Bowing his head, he ground out his answer, “Yes.”

“Then you have earned your first answer. I am Kratos, Ghost of Sparta, and God of War. Now, you will earn your next answer. Baldur moved to his haunches. “Go. Sit.” He followed the other god- _Kratos’s_ pointing finger to a stool under a small round table. Baldur shuffled as best he could, which wasn’t well considering his arms and legs were hardly following his commands. 

“When did you last eat?” 

“I...don’t know.”

He heard a grunt coming from the other room. There was the sound of metal moving and before long a savory aroma began to waft under Baldur’s nose. His stomach lurched and his mouth watered. A bowl of some sort of broth was placed before him. Kratos stood back, eyes fixed on him. Baldur almost reached forward, but something about the situation didn’t seem right, so he abandoned the motion halfway, instead looking to the other god. 

“You learn quickly.” Kratos then sat across from Baldur, his presence crowding. He radiated heat, hot enough for Baldur to feel above even the soup before him. Baldur waited, watching Kratos as he settled into his supper, elbows surrounding the bowl, and encroaching on Baldur’s space, but never touching. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the larger man dipped his spoon and Baldur did the same. 

The soup was an inspired choice. Even though Baldur had clearly eaten in the past century, he obviously couldn’t taste it, or feel it. He did burn his tongue with the first few spoonfuls, but after that, he remembered how to blow to cool. His stomach had also stopped throbbing and spiking, and he silently chuckled when he realized why. With that taken care of however, he was losing the battle to keep his eyes open.

“What’s...why?” Was all he could manage before his head dropped forward, and his body followed with a quiet thump onto the table. He soon felt like he was floating, then sinking again. A soft pressure gently enveloped him after a confusing period of sliding and rustling. It didn’t matter. Even if Thor himself had come knocking, there was no way Baldur would have heard him. He sighed, heavy and content, and for the first time in 100 years, Baldur sank into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would not lie to you Baldur.”

“You expect me to believe that I slept for three months?” The younger god was incredulous, mouth agape as he pushed his eggs across his plate. “Why would you let me go on for so long?”

Kratos gave a near imperceptible shrug along with an equally exasperated sigh. “You needed the rest. Now, finish your meal.” 

Baldur huffed, chafing at being treated as if he was a child again.

* * *

He knew he had gone out too far, but then again, Baldur was always one to test the limits. One simply does not have Thor as a sibling, or Odin a father and _not_ try to prove oneself at every chance. He knew there would be some consequences for his actions, but even the other god, _Kratos_, he reminded himself, rolling the name around his mind, still unused to actually addressing the other man as such, would have to admit that after a few weeks of seeing the same four indoor and rocky outdoor walls, any person would get a little stir crazy. As it was, Kratos, heading off the building agitation in the younger man, assigned Baldur the task of hunting for dinner; _”Preferably something larger than a rabbit,”_. He stalked the forest, listening, waiting, looking, and listening some more for signs of anything. He had been at it for hours, with the only thing he managed to stumble upon being a startled fox that scurried from the bushes he almost stepped on. 

With the sun still making it’s morning climb, Baldur squatted in the shade of a large coniferous tree, his back resting against the rough bark. The friction from the motion caused him to suck bitter air through his teeth, only to contentedly sigh when he chanced upon an itch that had not even fully manifested yet. He threw his head back in minor bliss, relishing not for the first time these few weeks in the revelation of yet another physical inconvenience. Since clearly he wasn’t finding anything any time soon, he let himself relax even more, eventually closing his eyes while a warm beam of sunlight graced his chest. It was nearly enough to remind him of _before_.

He awoke, frowning with the feeling of an unpleasant dream that had yet to mature into a nightmare. He didn’t remember much, only knowing that Freya was somehow part of it, which in and of itself was enough to sour his mod. Rising from his seat and stretching stiff muscles from sitting in one place too long, Baldur resumed his hunt. If he had his choice, he wanted one of the deer that had passed near the cottage a few days ago. 

He wasn’t known as Odin’s best tracker without reason, and soon he was stalking a majestic royal stag. He followed along for a good hour or so, closing the distance between them little by little. Though he could have easily burst forward like he did while fighting Kratos and _BOY_, he wanted to savor the experience. As with many things, it had been too long since he felt the thrill of the hunt. 

At last, his quarry came to the river that wound its way through the woods and behind Kratos’ home. It dipped down into the cool waters for a drink and Baldur crept his way forward, careful to avoid crunching the hard snow. Aside from the bubbling coming from the shore, and the various birds calling, the scene was stark and serene, the realm uncaring about the flash of violence about to unfold. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, as a fleeting memory of him, his father, and his brother stalking these very same woods long ago in search of food and sometimes other fights as well. 

Just as he got within range, with his hunting ax at the ready, the gentle breeze that had been drifting through the clearing suddenly picked up, becoming a torrent of rushing wind and flying debris. The water surged forth, frothing and battering the bank, sweeping along the edges and the ground rumbled and tore, moaning as cracks appeared along the surface, and green essence erupted forth. In all the commotion, the stag attempted to flee, only to cry out as the earth shifted and one leg snapped in a crevice. Baldur crouched down, bracing himself between a long fallen log and a newly jutting stone. He took quick peeps from his cover, staring as everything moved to one precise point in the middle of the river. Aqueous tendrils spiraled upward, and...was he going crazy, or was that a little girl? ON FIRE? In the middle of the river? 

Before he could begin to piece what he was seeing together, the whole phenomenon collapsed in on itself. Baldur was left rubbing his ear (he had found out last week that this was a calming sensation for him) in the silence for about two seconds before everything exploded outward and he was blasted through at least two solid oak trees, disoriented and grunting in pain from the impact and the spinning and whirling when he crashed to the ground. 

_What the Hel?_ He stumbled to his feet and shuffled to where the explosion took place. With luck, perhaps he could find that deer and get back to the cabin before whatever was behind that explosion reared its head and found him. He mused on what it could have been. It seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place from where. He knew it was magic of a sort for sure, but again failed to compare it to anything he knew on the spot. _Maybe_ she _knows._ he thought. Mother always was experimenting and spell- _**NO!** I bet this was her doing!_. Of course it was Freya. Who else would be casting magic way the hell out here? _Of COURSE she wouldn’t leave me alone. She just had to do this. She couldn’t leave me well enough alone to hate her in peace!_. Baldur’s head began to throb. Why? Why would she be here? Did she come to beg for forgiveness again? Did she think it would be that easy? He spotted her long, dark hair as she stood along the shore. His breathing was ragged as he stomped through the underbrush, fists clenched so tightly he could swear he was going to break a bone. All that played in his head was that scene by the giant’s corpse just a short few weeks ago. He was so close then, he could have ended her. And while he enjoyed living on borrowed time, if Freya was going to seek out his retribution and her death so wantonly, who was he to deny her. Of course, Kratos would surely kill him after, but it would be worth it...wouldn’t it? 

“I see you gave up on living. Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll end it quick this time!” He called upon his own Domain, charging his body with light and burst forward with his arm outstretched. He had her this time! He was actually going to do it! And then she turned around. Being the God of Light has some advantages. Speed is one of them. Reflexes are another, and Baldur’s were just quick enough that he avoided the business end of a spear. He did grab the shaft, and used his momentum to spin in place, tossing the woman across the river to the stony embankment on the other side. His triumph turned to amazement as she twisted and flipped in mid air, righting herself before making impact. The speed at which he threw her caused her to meet the wall, land as if she were crouching on the vertical surface, and raise her face to his with her spear pointed at him; all before the wind from the throw itself sent a shockwave through the water. 

It was in that moment, that Baldur knew two things:  
One: He fucked up  
Two: This wasn’t Freya. 

Not that Freya _couldn’t_ have moved the way this woman did; she just couldn’t do so _now_, what with Odin taking her wings and fighting spirit away like he did. The previous flames of rage quickly petered out, icing into a different burst of adrenaline when the woman leapt back across the river, shattering the stone behind her with a warcry. He didn’t want to fight a stranger, yet, he was the one who instigated this one. He assumed a posture that he hoped was both defensive and nonaggressive; shielding his face and bracing for impact. He barked when she did collide into him, and grunted when the hilt cracked against his skull. He opened his eyes to find her on top of him; spearhead at his throat.

“WHERE IS SHE? What have you done with her?” The woman was beautiful, and unlike any he had seen before. She was also very clearly angry. She jabbed the spear forward, poking at his throat. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He wheezed. She was standing, one foot on the ground and the other on his chest. He thought about forcing her off, but that would most likely continue a fight he wasn’t interested in. Besides, if her first hit was any indication, this woman was not one to be messed with. 

“You don’t know who I’m talking about, and yet you attack me? Why?”

“Because I thought you were someone else.” She considered for a moment before removing her foot. “I thought you were my mother.” He sputtered and coughed as he stood up. 

“You thought I was your mother and that enraged you enough to strike?”

“That’s why I’m out here. She...long ago she…” his face scrunched up and he searched for the words. In all the time he was cursed, as horrific as it had been to not feel anything, speaking the truth, that it was his own mother that did it, was probably the worst aspect of the ordeal. Even now, he could see and hear her, pleading the case for her actions and why she had to do it and why she wouldn’t undo it. 

His head began to hurt, and the rushing in his ears came back. 

“My mother did something terrible and selfish, and I will _never_ forgive her. And for the time being, I guarantee that I will kill her on sight, and I- It shouldn’t have been you.” 

The woman stood back, still holding her spear en guarde. She considered him for a moment, then replied, “I am sorry to hear that. I can understand a mistake of that magnitude, and how easily one can justify it to themselves. I also understand your pain and rage. It reminds me of someone I used to know.” She paused for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth; looking everywhere except at Baldur her weight shifting uncomfortably. Eventually she sighed. “I know you say you cannot forgive her,” and she stuck her hand out to cut him off, “and I am not saying that you are under any obligation to do so, but could there ever be a time when you would not wish to kill her? Is there anything she could do to see you again?”

It was Baldur’s turn to consider her. He regarded her armor, a leather style that was foriegn to him. She was tall, for a woman, standing above him, but shorter than his mother. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing the muscle and giving her the image of having been carved from a mountain. She was well built, her body strong and pleasing, and maybe at another time he would have thought about other things, but at the moment it was her face, her expression that was captivating him. No not captivating. Irritating. She had the same face Mother had after her spell. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, like Kratos taught him. “Why are you asking me this? You don’t know her, you don’t know what she’s done.”

“No. No. You are right. I apologize. I need to be moving along anyway. I am sorry to have bothered you.” She turned back toward the river, clearly unsure of which way to go.”

“ You're looking for the little girl. The one in the fire, right?”

The woman, who Baldur was pretty sure by now was a goddess from another land, whirled around, “Do you know where she is?” There it was, that look again. 

Baldur forced his hand to relax. “No, but I bet you _she_ might. My mother might be able to help you.” He hoped she wouldn’t catch how hard it was for him not to completely spit out the word. 

“Your mother hurt you that much, and yet you want me to go to her. Why should I trust her after what you told me?”

“Because as much as I hate that bitch, I am the **only** one that she has ever hurt like this. If there’s anyone in this realm who can help you find that little girl, it’s her.” He closed his eyes and brought his hands together as if he were molding clay. In reality he was molding light, creating a beacon. When he was done, he handed the tiny orb to the woman. “Take this, it should show you the way.” He looked around, spotting the crushed body of the deer. As he walked over to retrieve his dinner, he heard the woman call out to him. 

“Thank you. I know it is difficult, but I appreciate you sending me to your mother, since you believe she can help. Is there any message you would like me to give to her on your behalf?”

He moved in silence, clearing the rubble from the carcass and hefting the animal over his shoulder. When he faced her again, she had yet to move, her expectant face yet again requiring him to concentrate on cenerting himself. 

“No.”


End file.
